


Angel Lust

by Qzil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Clothed Sex, Corpse Desecration, F/M, Funeral Home, Necrophilia, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qzil/pseuds/Qzil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg is a mortician. Castiel is a body with a little problem. They have a sort of date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Lust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodandcream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/gifts).



> Inaccurate depiction of funeral homes and (possibly) corpses follows for porn reasons. I did not do all that much research on actual dead bodies. This is all bendoverandbiteyourgag/bloodandcream's fault. She's my best bad influence.

Meg awoke to the shrill ringing of her cell phone. Groaning, she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head, relaxing when the ringing stopped. Whatever it was, she could deal with it when it wasn’t four in the morning. She was just drifting off again when the phone resumed shrieking. Rolling over, she untangled herself from her blankets and growled when she saw her brother’s name flashing on the screen.

“Tom, what the Hell? It’s four in the fucking morning!” she growled into the phone.

Tom huffed on the other side of the line. “Don’t care. Get up. We got a body.”

“And you can’t get it because?”

“Because it’s your turn,” he told her. “I picked up the last one in the middle of the night.”

“But you’re already awake,” she whined. “I spent all day fixing up that old lady, and she smelled like dirty socks.”

“I’m on vacation. It’s your turn,” Tom insisted. “The corpse van’s on its way already. Just answer the door, shove it in the basement, and you can go back to sleep.”

Sighing, Meg swung herself up out of bed. Cradling her cell phone between her shoulder and ear, she groped around for her robe. “Any info?”

“Male. Thirty two and recently divorced. Death by hanging. Clear suicide. Ex-wife’s setting up the funeral.”

“Shouldn’t he be going to the coroner’s? I thought they had to check that shit out.”

“Look, I don’t know. All I know is that he died a couple of hours ago and that he’s gonna start to smell real, real quick.”

Meg pulled her robe on over her nightgown. “Why us?”

“Apparently we did his father and mother and sister, and he specifically requested us before he and his wife divorced,” Tom explained. “As long as they pay, I don’t care. Now go meet the corpse van. I’ll be back on Friday.”

Tom hung up without saying goodbye. Meg pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it. “Fuck you, too.”

Sighing, she threw the phone down on the bed and walked downstairs to wait for the corpse van, flicking lights on as she went. The Masters Funeral Home, founded by her grandfather’s grandfather, had been in business for generations now. They were family owned and operated, each child taking over for their parent, and their clients were pretty constant. Her great-grandparents had gone to school with her classmate’s great-grandparents, and her grandparents had been the ones to embalm, dress, and prepare her classmate’s great-grandparents for burial. The business was still run out of their family’s home, with most of the first floor and basement being dedicated to the dead. She’d grown up with corpses and mourners in the house, and had grown used to dead bodies among everyday items.

She grabbed a glass of orange juice from the kitchen and wandered into the porch to wait for the van that transported the dead. She knew that it was insensitive to call it a corpse van, but after so long, she and her brother had grown so desensitized to the sights and smells of death that they felt comfortable joking about it. Their father had done the same thing while he was alive.

The corpse van pulled into the driveway. The new driver hopped out and raised his eyebrows at her. The job had a high turnover rate, so there was a new driver every month or so, and Meg was used to the looks of surprise they always gave her. They were always expecting a man in a suit to greet them at the door, and she usually sent Tom, just to avoid them.

“You the owner’s wife?” the burly man asked her. Meg pursed her lips.

“Sister. We co-own the place. Tom called and told me you got a body for me?”

The man nodded and moved to the back of the van. Despite the different drivers, the van was always the same, and ugly, gray, windowless monstrosity that would’ve immediately made her call the cops if she’d seen it parked near a playground. The back was always gross, covered in stained towels, and smelled like rotting bodies. She stayed where she was on the porch as the man pulled the body from the back and set up the gurney.

“Where you want it?” he asked.

Meg rolled her eyes. “The basement. Duh.”

The man rolled his eyes back at her and rolled the gurney up the ramp. Usually, she and Tom preferred their clients to be delivered at the back door, but at this time of night, with no one around to see them, she didn’t care if the body was wheeled through the house.

The body transporter glanced around curiously, but concentrated on his job. Meg held the doors open for him until they got to the basement. She helped him lift the body off the gurney and onto her table, cracking her back when she was finished.

“You gonna be okay with this here, little lady?” the transporter asked.

“I am a professional, you know,” Meg snapped. The man wisely stayed silent as she saw him out and locked the door. Glaring at the wood, Meg hoped that this one wouldn’t last long. The drivers never did. The smell and the fluids and the hours got to be too much for them, and they left for a less strenuous, and hopefully less fluid-filled, career.

Sighing, Meg went back downstairs to check out the body before she turned in for the night. She’d have to meet with the family in the morning, to decide what they wanted to do with the body, and plan the funeral before she started working on the body.

Pulling her dark-purple robe tighter around her, Meg descended back into the basement. It was cold, as always, to keep the smell of decay from permeating the house, and to keep the body from rotting until they could embalm it. She slipped on a pair of gloves and read the information.

Castiel Novak had been thirty two years old, and had died of asphyxiation in his home four hours prior. His ex-wife had found him in the attic of the home they were still sharing when she’d woken up and seen the light on. Shaking her head, Meg unzipped the body bag and felt her breath catch. He was _cute._

His head hung to the left, clearly indicating what side he’d tied the knot on when he’d made a poor noose. There was a deep mark in his neck from a rope that had already begun to yellow, and the professional side of Meg hoped that the family would want to dress him in something high-collared for the viewing. But the non-professional side of her took control, and without thinking about it she reached her finger out and gently stroked the ligature mark.

The body groaned.

Meg jumped back and immediately chastised herself. She hadn’t jumped at the noises a dead body made since she was ten years old and Tom had dared her to go into the basement alone. It was simply the gasses building up and escaping. Nothing else.

Shaking her head, Meg unzipped the bag down to the man’s waist and shook her head again. He’d clearly put some amount of thought into his suicide, and had dressed as though he was getting ready for his own funeral. His suit fit him perfectly, and although his hands were dark due to the blood pooling in them, the rest of his body appeared to be in good shape. Only his tan-colored trenchcoat and the fact that his tie was on backward distracted from his appearance. Meg hoped that his family had another suit, because she knew she’d have to cut this one off of him.

Unzipping the bag further, she felt her face flush involuntarily.

His pants were tented.

Meg shook herself. Death erections, were a fairly common thing among men who had died swiftly or violently, usually via hanging or a gunshot wound to the head. She’d seen a few over the years, and it was nothing to be embarrassed about.

But then, none of the corpses that had come in sporting one had been cute.

Swallowing hard, Meg zipped the body bag back up to the man’s waist and took a step back. Her breathing quickened and her heart began to pound in her chest. Suddenly the basement seemed too quiet, and she was aware of just how alone she was in the house.

Meg swallowed again and walked swiftly up the stairs, back into her room, still breathing hard. Opening her bedside drawer, she rooted around until she found her vibrator and threw it on the bed. She shed her robe and took a deep breath.

She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been around the dead. She knew that death did strange things to people, and everyone responded to it differently. Some people cried and cried for days, some people shut down completely, and some people were fine for days, weeks, months, or even years before they allowed themselves to mourn. Some people got lusty.

Meg always figured she had just been one of those people. When she was younger, she’d always gotten a strange thrill when her brother had dared her to sneak into the basement and touch a corpse. As she got older, the thrill had changed into something else, something more sexual, and she always figured that some wires in her brain had gotten crossed somewhere along the line. The smell of embalming fluid or a fresh corpse always sent a wave of excitement through her that shot right down between her legs.

She couldn’t remember when the transition had happened, but she could remember the first corpse that had sent a thrill through her. She’d been fifteen years old and their gym teacher had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. She’d had a crush on him, and had snuck down into the basement that night after her father and brother were asleep to take a look at his body, to make sure he was really dead. She’d seen hundreds of corpses over the years, but it had never been anyone she’d known, anyone she’d seen on a daily basis, and it certainly hadn’t been someone that she’d _liked._

She’d snuck into the basement and peeled the sheet back and had stared at his body, and felt that strange shiver roll through her own body when she reached out a hand and gently wrapped her fingers around his stiff, cold ones. The smell of embalming fluid had been heavy in the room, along with the familiar smell of fresh corpse, and his lips had felt waxy under hers when she’d gently leaned over and kissed the body.

Horrified at herself, she’d raced back up to her room. But the memory clung to her that night, and she’d been unable to resist touching herself as she remembered clutching her teacher’s cold hand and kissing his still, dead lips.

Afterward, she’d figured that it was a one-time thing, a reaction to the dead body of a teacher she’d had a crush on. But then they’d gotten another body that was good looking and in good condition, and then another, and then another, and arousal had shot through her body every time they came through the door.

It had taken her years to accept it, and ages poking around the internet to find that there were other people like her, people who found dead bodies or the scent of death attractive. For a while she had considered going into a different profession and leaving the home altogether, to remove herself from temptation, but after a while she had discarded the idea. She wasn’t hurting anybody, she reasoned, and it happened infrequently enough that she could mostly forget about it.

Except that she’d never actually had sex with a corpse. She’d masturbated to the thought of it plenty of times, and had even taken her activities down into the basement a handful of times when she was alone in the house, despite the fact that it was unsanitary. Still, her best memories had been made down there, spread out on a plastic sheet, clutching the still, cold hand of an attractive corpse as she climaxed with the smell of death in her nostrils.

Breathing hard, Meg settled on her bed and rucked her nightgown up around her thighs before sliding her hand down her stomach to tease herself.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she called up the sight of Castiel’s dead body, the way his lips had swollen purple in death and the blood had congealed in the ligature mark, and the way his pants were tented with the last erection of his life.

Sighing, she slipped a finger into herself and wondered how it would feel to climb up onto the table and lower herself down onto his cold, stiff cock. She imagined the feeling of his waxy flesh under her hands, imagined running her fingers over his still chest and down his arms, imagined pressing her face against the ligature mark and breathing in the scent of death that clung to him.

Snapping her eyes open, Meg removed her fingers from herself and rolled over to grab her vibrator. Hesitating, she ran her fingers over its smooth, pink surface and nibbled on her bottom lip. She was completely alone in the house, and her corpse had been blessed with angel lust, something no other attractive corpse that had ever passed through her house had been blessed with.

Swallowing hard, she tossed her vibrator to the side, rolled over until she reached her bedside drawer, and rooted around until she found the small box of condoms and the lube she kept for when she occasionally had a living visitor. She shook with excitement as she stuffed her feet back into her slippers and pulled her robe back around her as she trotted down the stairs and descended once more into the basement. It was cold, as it always was, and of course Castiel was right where she had left him. Trembling, she maneuvered the body bag out from under him and shed her robe. The table that they used to work on was narrow and cold, but solid enough, and she found that straddling his body was almost comfortable.

His erection pressed against her through the thin cotton of her underwear, and Meg groaned as she rubbed herself against it. His body was still under her, and she shivered in the cold air, feeling her nipples tighten and gooseflesh spring up on her exposed skin. Her nightgown was short and sleeveless, the same color as her robe, and was trimmed with lace. But she could’ve been wearing a potato sack for all her partner cared, and the thought made Meg smile. Castiel wouldn’t complain about her thick thighs or the way the smell of embalming fluid clung to her hair and skin, or complain that she was too rough, or moved too slowly, or make demands. He couldn’t.

Smiling, she set about exploring, moving her hands over the stubble on his square jaw and brushing his dark hair away from his forehead. It was a few shades lighter than her own dark brown hair, and felt pleasant under her fingers. Skipping his neck, she ran her hands down his chest and undid his tie, casually leaning over to drop it onto the floor before she undid the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. A voice in the back of her mind told her that she could’ve just used the scissors to cut his clothing off, but she shushed it. Despite the fact that she was straddling a corpse, she decided to treat it like any other romantic encounter she’d had and went slowly, taking her time to undo the buttons of his shirt and push it away to expose his chest.

She scooted down and rested her head on it, fingers stroking the spot where his heart was. There was no heartbeat, of course, just the quiet hum of the air conditioner and electronics in the house above her. Other than that, the room, and the corpse under her, was silent, and it was so still in the room that she could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. The thrill from doing something so forbidden thrummed in her blood, and she found herself reaching down to caress the corpse through his pants.

“Castiel,” she mumbled to herself, hoping that she was pronouncing his name right. It wasn’t the strangest name she’d seen in her career, but she could never be sure of the pronunciation of some of the names she came across.

Sitting back up, Meg delicately brushed her fingertips over his purplish eyelids before she slid them open. His eyes were glazed, and less colorful than they must have been in life, but she could still see the shade of blue that they had been while he was alive. There were crow’s feet at the corners, and for a moment she wished that she could’ve seen him smile.

Despite the fact that his head was tilted, she was almost sure that his bloodshot eyes were fixed on her, almost sure that his spirit or whatever bit of him that was left inside of his body was studying her form. For a moment it almost made her reconsider what she was about to do, but then she reassured herself that there was no way Castiel could look at her anymore. He was dead, and what she was feeling was a projection of her own feelings, or else an illusion brought on by the early hour and her tiredness.

She went back to running her hands over his chest and belly, stroking his small, dark nipples and the fine trail of dark hair on his navel that dipped under the waistband of his suit pants. She breathed in the sticky-sweet smell of death that wafted off Castiel’s body, sucking it in through her nose and mouth like mother’s milk as she ground herself down against him and slowly trailed her fingers downward.

Through it all, the corpse was perfectly still.

His belt was a bit of a challenge, and the table was cold and hard on her knees, but despite that Meg managed to open his belt and work his pants down to his thighs just enough to free his cock. It slid free without a noise, resting swollen and hard against his stomach, and did not move. Nibbling her lower lip, Meg felt her heart pound against her ribcage as she gently closed her fingers around the dead flesh.

It was cold, like the rest of him, and yielding under her touch. He was hard, but it wasn’t the soft, warm firmness that she was used to when she took a lover. Still, excitement rolled through her body at the feel of it, and without wasting anymore time she reached for the box of condoms and opened one, carefully sliding it down his shaft. Part of her knew it was absurd, because she had used ungloved hands to touch every other part of the corpse, but the small bit of hygiene and safety made her focus on the moment.

She kept his cock steady with one hand and used the other to move the crotch of her panties to the side. Steadying herself, she sank down onto Castiel’s cock, moving her hand from her panties to his chest to keep herself balanced. Even though there was no one else in the house, she bit her lip to keep herself quiet out of habit, only letting out a breath when she was fully seated in his lap.

She was wet, wetter than she’d ever been, and warm, but she could feel the coldness of his flesh through the thin layer of latex separating their bodies, and the contrast made her shiver. She braced both hands on his chest, one over his heart and the other near his nipple, and rocked softly, unable to convince herself to move off of him even an inch.

Castiel’s body rocked slightly with her motions on the metal table, but the table itself was designed to hold more than their combined weight, and stayed firm. There were no other sounds in the room except for her small gasps and breaths of pleasure, and Meg concentrated on the sounds and the smell of fresh corpse that wrapped itself around her.

His eyes still seemed to look at her, drinking her body in as she moved above him, tossing her head back so her shoulder-length hair flew around her face. Her breasts bounced in her nightgown as she rose and fell above him, finally moving on his cock. It filled her perfectly, just long and wide enough for her liking, and in the back of her mind Meg was sorry that she hadn’t met him in life and had the chance to ride him while his flesh was warm and his heart was beating.

She pressed on his chest a little harder than she meant to and squeezed her eyes shut when it caused the corpse to let out another moan. Logically, she knew that it was just air escaping the body, but to her ears it sounded almost like a moan of pleasure, almost like Castiel really was in there somewhere, and was enjoying the last bit of sex he would ever have.

She echoed the moan and moved a hand between her legs to play with herself. Her body had warmed his somewhat, and his cock no longer felt cold inside of her. Instead it felt warm, almost alive, despite the fact that the rest of him was cold and stiff and smelled of death. She looked into his eyes as she ground her pelvis against his and watched as a small spurt of blood escaped his lips and settled, dark, against his chin and chest, the spray mercifully missing the collar of his open shirt. The sight and smell only served to arouse her further, and she found herself leaning over his body to bury her face in his elongated, ruined neck as she came.

Breathing hard, Meg relaxed against his chest. His cock was still hard inside of her, and she knew that it would stay that way until she pulled the blood out of his body and replaced it with embalming fluid. Shivering in the cold air, she kept her face pressed against his neck. She was sweaty despite the temperature in the room, and she knew that she should move, slip her robe back on, and clean him up before getting some rest to meet with the family in the morning. Tom would text her the details. He always did, even if he was on vacation. He usually handled the face-to-face part of the business, being far more of a people person than she was.

Yet, she could not bring herself to move. She knew that she would carry the memory of riding Castiel’s body for the rest of her life. It was even better than the gym teacher’s, better than the memory of every body she had ever rubbed herself against or touched while she came.

And she still had him, at least for a little while.

She raised her head and pressed a feather-light kiss to the side of his face, careful not to let her lips touch the blood on his skin. His stubble scraped her mouth in a way that made her shiver, and she felt fresh arousal rush through her blood.

Straightening, Meg braced her hands on Castiel’s chest and began to move again.


End file.
